“Eoghan!” my mam shouts after me.
I don’t stop. I won’t. I find my dad standing in the kitchen, holding a takeout bag from Jackie Lennox. Seán is standing near the open fridge.
“Eoghan?” Paddy asks, looking at me quizzically.
I still don’t stop. I charge at my dad and knock the bag out of his arms. Chips fly across the room in what seems like slow motion. My dad turns back to look at me, his mouth open. Before he can speak or run or defend himself, I rear back and then lay a punch onto his open jaw. The man flies back onto the kitchen table and reflexively covers his head with his arms.
Seán is on me then, pulling me back to the best of his ability, but I’m not giving in. I’m spitting and cursing, words so bad have never been uttered in this house.
“Stop. Eoghan, stop!” my brother screams as he holds me around the waist.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” I ask anybody that will answer and then kick the nearest thing to me, the kitchen chair, across the room.
“Fucking stop,” my brother growls in my face.
Paddy rolls off the table onto his feet and then stumbles to the kitchen sink where he spits out a mouthful of blood.
My mam screams bloody fucking murder and runs to my dad’s side, then examines his face. “We should get you to the hospital.”
“No,” he says, and starts to work his jaw back and forth.
“Paddy—”
“No, Fiona, I’m fine,” he says and looks back at me. I’m still huffing like a fucking maniac and Seán, rightly so, hasn’t loosened his grip on me. My dad spits out more blood and then says, “I deserved it.”
“Jaysus, Padraig, don’t say that,” she says and then glares at me. “How could you, Eoghan?”
“How could I? Are you serious?”
Seán’s hold on me gets impossibly tighter.
“Lay off,” I tell him.
“Not until I know you won’t do anything else stupid.”
“Stupid? Seán, what’s happening?”
My brother finally loosens his hold on me and I step out of his arms.
“Someone needs to explain this to me,” I bark.
“We already have, but you refuse to listen, boy,” my mother says as she gets some ice for my dad.
Paddy doesn’t meet my eyes. He stares down at the floor as he continues to work his jaw.
I scoff. “What, the ol’ ‘getting help’ routine. Come off it,” I say.
“Listen, brother,” Seán says as he grabs the chair I kicked and puts it back where it belongs.
“I saw you,” I spit out. “I saw you placing a bet today with my own feckin’ eyes. What do you have to say for yourself, old man?”
My mam jumps in, “I told you, you’re confused, he was—”
“Not a chance, I saw it—”
“Stop. Everyone, stop,” my dad says quietly.
“I saw him place that bet.”
“Rubbish, just rubbish,” my mam goes on, right over my refusals.
“It very well isn’t rubbish.”
“Eoghan, that’s not what it was,” Seán tries to edge in.
Paddy smacks his hand against the counter. “Stop!” The room goes silent, and no one dares to move. “Leave us.”
My mam and brother both look at each other and then us, and then quietly make their way out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with my dad.
“I’m not interested in lies,” I tell him.
“Sit down,” he says, as cold as the ice pack pressed against his jaw. I swallow hard and do as he says. He drops the pack in the sink and takes a seat across from me. I cross my arms and stare at the salt and pepper shakers, refusing to look at him.
“The time has come that we talk through this. That you tell me how you really feel. To get this off your chest.”
“Gladly.”
“So that we can move on,” he says, and I lift my eyes up to him. “But first, I’m going to tell you the facts.”
“Right,” I scoff.
“I’m an addict. No other way to say it. The rush I feel, making wagers, waiting for outcomes, winning, is like nothing else. When I lose, it doesn’t even hurt that much, because I don’t think for a minute that it’s over. I tell myself, as sure as anything, that I will win it back if I just make another bet.”
“Fallacy.”
“That’s exactly right. Fallacy. But it doesn’t change the way that I feel. It doesn’t change my belief. This is how my brain is wired. This is my struggle and that’s why I need help. That’s why I’ve gotten help.”
“Is this the part where you tell me some nonsense story about how you’re in Gamblers Anonymous, changing your ways?”
He doesn’t say a word, but simply looks across the table at me with the same eyes I see looking back at me in the mirror. His have dulled over time and are framed by countless wrinkles. There’s a deep sadness there that somehow makes me ache.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“I don’t like talking about it, but I don’t know how I can avoid it. I’m getting help from a…psychiatrist,” he says under his breath.
“Oh.”
“She’s prescribed me an antidepressant.”
“What on earth for?” I ask, completely bewildered. He’s a compulsive gambler, how can that help?
“Did you think I just woke up one day and decided to go down to the corner sportsbook and put my life savings on a horse race? There are issues, deeper issues around all of this. This addiction, like others, usually involves some problems around mental health.”
It occurs to me that maybe I don’t know him as well as I thought I did. For all these years, I assumed his gambling was completely selfish in nature. I never once considered depression or anything like it. It’s honestly hard to believe he’s admitting this to me. Irish men, especially of his generation and class, aren’t known for admitting they have a problem.
“There are times, Eoghan, when I thought about ending it all.”
“Dad…” I start, but can think of nothing else to say. I am floored by his admission. And afraid. Afraid that this is something that I can’t fix. I’m learning there’s a lot I can’t fix.
“It would be easier, ya know, on you and the rest of the family. For my father. Christ, I was always disappointing that man. He couldn’t leave the pub in my care, rightly so, but I think that decimated our relationship. That’s why I disappeared. The shame and depression can be so overwhelming. The relapse always feels good at first. This time, I always think, this time I’ll have control over it. The fallout is crippling.”
“So why will this time be different? Why did you decide to quit while you were ahead and not when you hit rock bottom all those times?”
“Fiona.”
I raise my eyebrows at his answer. “It’s not her job to fix you. It never was.”
“I didn’t ask her to,” he argues back. “I wanted her to be proud of me, just one time. She’s stood by me, when I didn’t deserve it. She’s believed in me, when I hadn’t earned it. We’re not perfect, but her love is unwavering. She taught me to never give up, even in the hard times, because she never gave up, no matter how much it pained her.”
My heart sinks into my stomach. I knew love like that. Juliana.
“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, to walk away with that money and not try to turn it into more. It burns a hole in my pocket like you cannot believe.”
“You still have it?” I ask in disbelief. I was so certain that it was gone. I was so certain about a lot of things.
“Yes, miraculously, yes.”
“Tom Donneley?”
“Is my sponsor.”
“You’ve almost relapsed?”
“A few times, yes. He’s my go-to. He helps me through it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried, Eoghan, at the pub. You aren’t usually this attentive.”
He has a point. Goddamn my stubbornness. “And today, on the steps of Saint Mary’s? What was th
at? I saw you meet another man. He was writing in a notepad. You pulled something out of your pocket and gave it to him.”
My dad furrows his brow and then sits up straight. “Oh, that? That’s what you were talking about?”
“Yeah.”
“You saw that? Why didn’t you come talk to me?”
“I had to go.”
“That was our Gamblers Anonymous meeting leader. He’s taking up a collection for a woman that attends. Her mother passed, so we’re pitching in for flowers.”
“Oh. Sorry. I’m sorry about it all, Dad. I had no idea, truly.” My dad nods once and looks back down at his hands. It’s so apparent that he’s slipped back into shame. I think of all the times I’ve done my part to make him feel guilty, to make him feel the shame I always thought he deserved. I can’t have that, not now. Not now that I know about the depression. “Dad, don’t be ashamed. You’re so much braver than I ever gave you credit for. I’m the one who was wrong. I’m the one who gave up on you too easily.”
“It’s fine,” he says simply.
“I’ve got to ask, though, why didn’t you tell me or Seán any of this? We were out looking for you.”
“He told me. Honestly, you boys should talk to your mam more. Actually talk to her. You don’t give her enough credit. You think she’s weak, but she’s strong. I confided in her that I was struggling. She sent me to Tom’s. He stayed up all night with me, and all through the day until our meeting. I was feeling better after the meeting and came home. Seán was here and I decided it was time to have the talk with him that I’m now having with you. I plan on telling your other brothers tomorrow.”
I dig out my phone from my pocket and see that I do have a missed called from Seán. He must have called while I was arguing with Juliana.
And just like that, she is back in the forefront of my mind. I drop my head to my hands and rest them on the table.
“What is it?” Paddy asks.
I lift my head and look at him. He’s been so open and honest with me, I figure it’s time I return the favor. “My life is in shambles. I’ve lost the restaurant renovation and the woman I love.”
“How about you stay the night and tell us all about it.”
“Okay,” I say and I feel like for the first time in a really long time, I’m someone’s child again.
“But first, go apologize to your mother.”
Home
Julie
“Is this everything?” Dylan asks as he stretches the shipping tape over the last box.
“Yeah.”
“You travel light.”
“Silver lining.”
Ruth sits on the creaking brass bed. “I’m going to say it again, just so it’s on the record. I don’t think you should have packed. You’ll be back, won’t you?”
“He made it really clear that he doesn’t want me to come back. I’m only doing what he asked.”
“You can’t give up this easily,” she says.
Dylan gives me a knowing look, because he knows Eoghan as well as I do. Eoghan wouldn’t draw a line in pencil, he’d use that same black Sharpie he used the first day we met. It’s permanent.
“I don’t have much of a choice,” I tell her, and put my laptop into my backpack.
The only thing left to pack is my camera. It’s been sitting on my desk since last night. I switch it on and put it into play mode. I study the photo of us sitting around the Thanksgiving table and let myself feel everything. Gratefulness for the friends that all came together to share a meal with me. Pride for the pub, the place I’ve called home for the past several months. Love for the one man that invited me into his life and wanted to share it all with me. And finally, the heartbreak, that all of this is over.
“The last photo I took was of all of us together,” I say and show them. “I’m so glad we had that. Thank you for welcoming me to Ireland and for letting me be a part of your life.”
“You’ll always be a part of our life,” Ruth says and reaches out for Dylan’s hand.
Before I can think better of it, I pull both of them into a hug and whisper, “Thank you.”
“It’s time,” Dylan says. “The taxi should be waiting downstairs.”
Ruth checks her watch in disbelief and then wipes away some tears from her eyes. They help me carry my luggage downstairs and then to the door.
“I’ll be right out in a second,” I tell them, and they leave me alone in the pub. I stand in the center of it and try my best to take it all in. The smell, the sound of the floor beneath my feet, the feel of the wood of each table I pass.
“I love you, too, you know,” I say to a place that I never thought I’d consider home. “Be good to him. You’re all he’s got now.”
Before I go too far off the deep end, I reach into my bag and pull out my camera for one last shot. The dim lights aren’t terribly conducive, but I take the photo anyway and think to myself, I was here.
A silly hope blooms in my heart that the taxi driver waiting outside is Eoghan. But, it’s not. Of course it’s not. I can’t imagine leaving this place and not saying goodbye to him, but I suppose that’s what I’m going to have to do.
We hug goodbye one last time, and as the taxi takes me away, I watch as Ruth and Dylan fade away into the heart of Cork City. I press my palm, the one Eoghan kissed the first night we were together, against the window toward the sunrise and say goodbye to him, wherever he is. That’s when my heart fully breaks.
Eoghan
The sunrise streams in and nudges me awake. This doesn’t feel like my bed. This doesn’t feel like my sun. One eye peels open and Saint Anthony is staring back at me, a halo of sunlight around his marble head. He’s holding a heart-shaped stone in his arms, standing on an end table just below the front window of my parents’ house.
I rub my eyes and try to remember what the hell I’m doing here and why my right hand hurts so bleedin’ much. Then it all comes flooding back.
My mam’s devotion.
My dad’s depression.
My own heartbreak.
Juliana. I jump to my feet and pull my phone out of my pocket. It’s half eight. She hasn’t left yet, and the feeling is torturous. She’s still in Ireland, within my reach, but already gone in all the ways that matter. She’s about to slip through my fingers and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it.
“You up?” my dad asks as he comes into the living room from the kitchen.
“Yeah,” I answer and flop back down, tossing my phone beside me onto the couch.
He takes a seat in the corner chair and folds his hands together. “Listen, I was thinking about your situation all night long. I couldn’t sleep.”
“I’m surprised I slept at all,” I confess.
The four of us talked late into the night about everything under the sun, including Juliana. I shared the whole story with them. How we met. How we fell in love. How she broke my heart. They listened and consoled me, but didn’t offer much in the way of advice, but I know they were holding back. They were trying to do the right thing by respecting my decisions.
So, it comes as a surprise when my dad says, “Well, to put it bluntly, you’re a feckin’ eejit, boy.”
My defenses immediately rise up. “What?” I scoff.
“You heard me fine. Why are you letting her go?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Sounds to me like you kicked her out of your life.”
“I’m done talking about it.”
“Because you know you messed up?”
“I did no such thing,” I snap.
“You’re thinking that you’ve finally stood up for yourself by pushing her away, but you’re wrong. You won’t be happy. She won’t be happy. If you want to do right by yourself, go get the lass. Convince her to stay, and even if she can’t stay in Ireland right now, then—”
“Tell her you’ll wait,” my mam joins in from the entryway. “She’s a victim of a terrible man and put into a horrendous situation. Think about wha
t she’s been through. She deserves a little patience.”
I know she’s right, and I feel like utter rubbish for the things I said to Juliana.
Then, in the way only a mother can, Fiona pins me with her gaze and speaks directly to me, “You deserve love, Eoghan. You deserve everything.”
My chest rises as I absorb her sentiments. For the first time in years, I feel like the bonds of responsibility chaining me to my family have been broken. For the first time in years, I have the power to go after what I want, and what I want is Juliana. I twist the beads on my bracelet and remember being in bed with her yesterday, and having that conversation with her about being selfish. It’s my time. I want her back.
I glance back at my dad and he nods in agreement with my mam. “You do deserve everything, including the gastropub. You should go for it and for once in your bleedin’ life, let someone else help you. We have this money. Take it.”
“Really?”
“It would make us so happy to give back to you and help you work toward your dream.”
I glance at my mam and she nods gently, with tears in her eyes. “Go after your dreams,” she says. “Go after Juliana, before it’s too late.”
A small shudder passes through me and then I’m on my feet.
“Can I take the cab?”
My dad fetches the keys, then places them in my hand. “Good luck, lad.”
I brush past my sleepy brother, who has wandered out from his room, and I head toward the door.
“Where ya going?” he calls after me.
“The airport.”
I hop in my dad’s taxi and get on the road. When I’m out of the neighborhood, I grab for my phone to call her, but it’s not in my pocket. I left it back at my parents’ house.
“Fuck,” I shout and then step on it.
Julie
The couple in front of me are taking ages at the Aer Lingus check-in desk. They’re sickeningly adorable and from what I’ve heard, they’re going to Barcelona for a little warm weather and sightseeing. She’s got long blonde hair that he occasionally runs his hand through and then down her back. Every time he does it, she turns to him and smiles. Every time she does that, my bottom lip quivers and I have to tell myself to keep it together, because I’m on the verge of losing it.
Pull At My Heart Page 34
